


A Centaur Walks Into a Bar

by emmykay



Category: Hotblood!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Centaurs, F/F, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmykay/pseuds/emmykay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Rook meets Ava Langley.  Neither is what the other expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Centaur Walks Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [image](http://hotbloodwest.tumblr.com/post/77132619512) drawn by radderthanradishes. Mucho amore to starlock for generosity and overall loveliness. 
> 
> (Pssst. Check out the [comic!](http://hotbloodcomic.com/))

_Ohio, 1871._

Jane looked around the train station before stepping down, her hooves tentatively working the icy-slick steps before landing gratefully on the sweet, solid earth.

The agent had commented on the town being in the middle of nowhere. But she had been desperate enough to take anything. She had just thought that was New York City’s inflated sense of self registering through the employment agency. He had barely managed not to say “one-horse town" when she had flashed him a mean, narrow-eyed look. 

The station, really, just a stop, was a flat platform of rough hewn boards set above the muddy, icy ground. The town, what there was of it, consisted of a few weather-beaten, greyed wooden shacks hastily nailed together into approximate shapes of shelter.

The train whistled shrilly behind her and started chugging off, making its smoky way down the tracks. Seemed like she was stuck here, at least until the next train. She tugged the worn collar of her greatcoat closer to her neck and began the short walk to her appointment. It was at the hotel. Lucky for her, there appeared to be only one.

She paused at the doorway. A hotel like this, in her experience, was not for nice people. She reminded herself that she had stopped being ‘nice’ a long time ago and pushed open the swinging doors. 

As she entered the dimly lit, smoke-filled room, she noticed a few clusters of men, some other centaurs, the bartender, a few saloon girls. No one fitted the description the agent had given her. "Tall, black hair, sharp, smokes," he had said. "Rich." Like that was the important thing. The letter had been similarly opaque in describing her (hopefully) future duties, the letters scratched in messily. "Wanted: translation, transcription, correspondence, bookkeeping. —A. Langley."

A glint of amber caught her eye. A dark-haired woman wearing an elaborate black lace shawl covered in garnet beads was meditatively stirring a tumbler of whiskey. A cigarette in a jet holder smoldered on a plate in front of her. Reading glasses perched on her long nose as she perused the book spread open in front of her. She was sitting, but she could be tall. 

Jane’s hooves thudded hollowly against the floorboards as she approached. "Evening," she said, hoping like hell the South Carolina country in her voice wouldn’t carry the same negative connotations here as it did in New York. She smiled and extended a hand. "I’m Jane Rook. And if you’re A. Langley, I’m your new secretary."

The woman looked up. She laughed, humorlessly. "You’re joking!" Her consonants were the hard, clipped accents Jane had just left behind. 

Jane’s smile froze. She knew she looked more like a rough works maid at a military hospital than a secretary. The worn clothes, the poor condition of her coat, and long slash of old scar across her cheek didn’t help. She dropped the hand, scrambling to reach her interior coat pocket. "I’ve got the letter from the agency -"

The agent had said 'sharp.' He hadn’t been wrong, but while A. Langley was angular in appearance, she was more than that. Her thin, pale face, with its distinct cheekbones was what Mr. Sidney, Jane’s childhood tutor, would have called 'arresting.' Her dark eyes seemed to take in all of Jane in a way she hadn’t been looked at in a long, long time. "You’re not joking."

"No, Ma’am." Anxiously, Jane said, "I know French and Spanish, and read in Greek and Latin, I know algebra and - "

"When I said secretary, I meant a small biddable soul who would take dictation and not cause me any trouble. Not - not - some filly who - not you." She muttered, "Last time I ask that bastard for a favor."

"Ma’am?" 

"And while you’re nothing like I would have imagined, you’re the only one to have come along." Langley seemed to have come to a decision. She stood, revealing a pair of expensively tailored trousers. She held out her hand. "You’ve got the job."

"Ma’am." Jane’s shoulders dropped in immense relief as she shook Langley’s hand. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet. You still have to earn your way," Langley smirked, dark eyes full of secret, unholy mirth.

"Don’t worry, ma’am. I will."

Langley gathered up her things. "Be ready at eight a.m. Sharp. We’re taking the morning train."

"Where are we going?"

Langley smiled. "New Orleans. Then on to South America. You see, Jane, I’ve got interests in rubber that need attending to." She tipped her head towards Jane. "Oh, and call me Ava. That ‘ma’aming’ thing you do is prematurely aging. The last thing I need." Langley patted Jane’s left flank familiarly and headed for the stairs.

Jane flushed, a hectic red that clashed with her ginger hair. "Ma’am," she choked.


End file.
